


Tapping on my Forehead

by Viktorye



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Comfort, Gen, KakaGai - Freeform, M/M, Other, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8152930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viktorye/pseuds/Viktorye
Summary: Gai and Kakashi. Comfort/fluff.





	1. The Altar

Gai folded his legs neatly beneath him and touched his forehead to the floor at the foot of the small wooden altar from which a single thread of smoke lazily trailed. The jasmine incense prickled his nose, and made his eyes water. 

Behind the slatted cabinet doors stood a little picture frame containing a yellowed photograph. Immortalized behind the foggy glass was a dark haired woman, whose eyes were serious and penetrating, though her face was full of humor. The smoke from the incense had begun to fade the finer details of her face, but Gai had memorized the curve of her cheek, her almond eyes, the way her hair curled just slightly over her brow - the frozen features which to him defined her as mother. 

The boy sat up and studied her face, noting how the golden Buddha which sat on the shelf behind her portrait bore the same archaic smile, and how the last time he wore these black robes was the day her memory moved to the butsudan. Gai felt the air around him shift, and leaned back against his father, who wet his calloused fingers in the resonance bowl and extinguished the stick of incense. Though it was the late afternoon, the house seemed to fall a little darker. 

“Are you hungry?” Dai’s voice had not lost its elasticity despite a day spent crying. 

Gai was silent. 

“You haven’t eaten all day.” Dai pressed a kiss onto Gai’s cheek and scooped him into his arms. The boy hooked his arms around his father’s neck and watched the shrine grow smaller as Dai padded into the hallway and eventually rounded the doorpost into the kitchen. A clay wood-burning stove squatted low in the corner, next to a short wooden pantry and a stack of empty chicken wire cages. A few knives and other basic utensils were laid out on the long counter which sat beside the icebox, the only vaguely modern technology aside from the stove. Dai sat Gai down on a crate and crouched down to wrestle with the mess in the pantry. 

Apart from the sundries, the home was bare. The home was bare, and it was full of dust and soil, but it was home. Nothing ever changed, and it was as if it had frozen in time just the way she left it. 

“Was it like mama?”

“What’s that?” Dai asked, exclaiming suddenly as his head knocked hard against the pantry door. His voice was somehow squeaky yet simultaneously low, and almost sounded as if a wild boar had learned to speak human language.

“Sakumo Hatake,” Gai explained, as he pulled at the collar of his black robe. “Was it the same as mama?” Gai wondered if Kakashi’s house looked the same as his.

Dai's expression darkened. He cleared his throat and dropped the sack of rice he’d won from the cupboard against the counter, hoping it might spill, hoping it might distract from the subject at hand, though he knew in his core that Gai was old enough now to understand, and the bag of grain sat staunchly still.

“No,” he sighed. Dai turned and smiled weakly, Gai returned a quizzical expression that urged him to elaborate.

“When your mama disappeared, I never stopped looking for her. Do you remember that? Every day I went as far as I could go. Even when they told me she was gone, I didn't give up, never once. No reason was a good enough reason.” 

Gai hummed as he recalled spending many afternoons with the old woman down the road. He got up from his spot and stirred the pot of boiled-over rice as Dai dabbed at his wet cheeks and busied himself looking for the beef stock he'd made the night before.

“Well, Sakumo was sort of lost, too. Even though he was right there in his house. He never left, but he went missing, and, and he didn't have anyone to look for him. No one tried to find him. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“And maybe if I had tried harder, if I had been a better friend to him…” 

Gai placed a hand on his father’s arm and squeezed. He was used to seeing his tears but these emotions felt dark, and the boy couldn't help but feel afraid.

“So you be good to that boy,” the tearful man said through a strained voice. 

“Kakashi?”

“Even if he’s mean and awful to you, do you understand? You be the best friend you can be. He’s all alone now, like Sakumo was alone. So if he gets lost, you need to find him, alright?”

“Ok, papa. Don't worry, I won't ever give up on him.” Gai reached into the icebox. The bag of marinated beef was cold and a bit drippy.

“Is there enough for three people?”


	2. No Times

It was an unusually hot day for September. Those unwilling to stand in mourning under the sun had already begun filtering out before the ceremony had commenced, leaving bald patches of green among the black wave. 

Kakashi felt sick. 

He recognized only a handful of the adults, and those he did know seemed to stand at a calculated distance away from him. The sea of whispering strangers made him uneasy, so Kakashi reached beside him for the hem of Sakumo’s sleeve. His hand hovered in the empty air for a moment before it fell to his side. The breeze carried off his mind as someone important moved to the front and spoke at length about something he couldn't understand.

The pine casket didn't seem big enough. Kakashi watched emptily as it sunk below the grass, where the sun caught the tiny blades and cast green rays in plaid across the face of it. It must be nice and cool underground, he thought. 

“Your father was a good man,” someone said, and placed their hand on his back. It lingered for a moment, and the boy looked up and realized the hole had been filled and the crowd had gone.

“I hope you can understand that, Kakashi.” 

The Academy teacher’s voice was unassuming but almost too soft to hear. He ruffled the boy’s hair, and with that, Kakashi stood alone. It all felt so insignificant. The name on the headstone and the dates beneath it had no meaning, and if they did, Kakashi did not know them. Even the people who came to see were strangers to him. 

Kakashi sat and ripped up the grass in little clumps. White clouds rolled up high and gave him what shade they could.

Sakumo Hatake was an earnest man, tender in the way he lived, and generous to a fault. He was the head and the heart, his was the spirit and the laughter so ubiquitous it could be felt next door. He was fierce and meek at once, and had more trouble persuading his son to brush his teeth than he did spilling the blood of an enemy. He was Captain, and he was Papa, who never let a scrape go unkissed and who never left a single thing unfinished. He was the owner of a home, and a bicycle, and unbeknownst to most, a modest stamp collection. He was two knee surgeries and a cancer screening, he was a smiling widower and he was the White Fang. He was the pride of the village, he was a paragon shinobi, and he was loved. But the worst of all these, he was kind.

Sakumo’s usefulness expired the moment he traded policy for humanity, and the life of sacrifice spilled like sand through his fingers. Sakumo became the pyrrhic victor, the textbook example, the lesson in the classroom as Kakashi watched his friends become his tormentors. What little he thought he knew of Sakumo was tantamount to traitor, and Kakashi grew to hate him too. 

The last of his clan wandered home as the sun dyed the clouds bright pink. He imagined that the birds perching on the telephone wires were beads on a broken string, and if he held it up they would all slide to one end. 

Despite countless reassurances, infinite not-to-worrys, no one had cleaned the house since Sakumo's body was collected. Kakashi avoided the stained tatami mats and curled up in the bottom of the round wooden bathtub, where he slept until he couldn't sleep any longer.


	3. The Stain

Kakashi woke to an orange light washing over the house. He wearily lifted himself over the lip of the bathtub and draped himself there as he watched the swollen purple clouds drift in front of the sun. Was it evening or morning? Was he dreaming? 

One by one his senses returned to him, and the smell of rot soon made itself apparent. His stomach felt emptier than it ever had. Sleeping curled up in the bath had locked his head at an angle, so he stumbled as his numb legs dripped over the side of the tub. Kakashi stepped onto the tile floor and wavered there like a reed caught by a gust of wind, unsure of where to go or what to do. 

The house was completely dark by the time he found his way into the main room. The little boy sat wrapped in a comforter against the wall and stared at the irregular dark shape on the ground, which seemed like a mirage as its edges rippled indistinctly. The room smelled like a headache, so Kakashi buried his face in the fabric which embraced him protectively, and pretended he could feel those familiar strong arms, firm and tanned and warm, holding him close.

Eventually Kakashi’s growling stomach broke him away from his contemplations. He moved slowly into the kitchen and scoured the cabinets for something, anything, finding only an empty bag of flour and a net of rotting fruits in the refrigerator. He remembered the few cups of pasta stored in a jar by the sink, but even on his tip-toes he couldn't seem to reach it. Kakashi sank to the floor, and listened to the crickets chirping outside as his own lonely cries filled the empty spaces of the house.

An aggressive wind that warned of an oncoming storm rattled the front door and he curled in on himself. Though he'd been asleep so long, exhaustion and hunger tugged at his pinkened eyelids, and his comforter smelled like fresh young grass and the sun, like the smell of an afternoon, like Sakumo’s fatigues tossed in the laundry bin. Kakashi felt himself falling asleep when the door again rattled violently and shocked him awake.

“Kakashi?”

Was that a voice? It was easily past midnight, who could be calling at this hour? Kakashi was still for a moment to be sure he wasn't imagining things.

“Kakashi! Are you in there? Can you let me in? It's raining…”

The boy quickly swiped at his eyes and nose, and secured the blanket around his shoulders before moving to the door. He opened it just a crack, hiding his body behind the frame and letting only his nose poke out. 

“Kakashi...!”

There was no mistaking the nasally voice attached to that green jumpsuit and shiny mop of hair.

“What do you want?” Kakashi tried hard to sound disaffected, but he was betrayed by the mucus in his throat that evidenced his crying.

Apparently Gai hadn't thought to bring along an umbrella, as the storm had moved in rather suddenly, so he stood shivering madly under the eaves, soaked to the bone but looking none the worse for wear. Opening the door a crack wider, Kakashi stared at him blankly.

“Kakashi! Let me in!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well it’s been a few days now and no one’s seen you at the Academy - and I asked Aoi Sensei, and he hadn't either - can I come in? It's cold.”

“Go home, Gai.”

“Wait!”

Kakashi slammed the door hard but jumped as he heard a yelp, looking down to see Gai’s toes turning purple against the wall. He pulled a frown, defeated, and slid the door back, turning to walk into the main room as Gai limped inside and shut the sound of the storm out behind him.

“You have a nice house,” Gai remarked as he carefully removed his soaked shoes and placed them as neatly as he could by the door. The silence which followed was so pervasive that Gai wondered if he had unknowingly shouted those words.

“Umm, oh, Aoba and Genma wanted me to ask you if ...”

“I don't want to talk,” Kakashi interjected quietly as he retook his place in his blanketed fortress against the wall.

“But I only wanted …”

“I said, I don't want to talk!”

“Ok.”

Gai shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and didn't dare to venture in any further than the landing. What was he doing here, anyway? He didn't know what words to say to make it easier, he hardly even knew Kakashi, not to mention he had a creeping suspicion the other boy rather disliked him. He stood there for a moment more before he opened his mouth again.

“Listen, I’m sorry about --”

“Enough!” Kakashi shouted, and fought against the blanket in an effort to escape, rumpling it into an amorphous lump. 

“I don't care how sorry you are! I don't want to hear whatever stupid reasons you came here for! I’ve had enough of everyone being so sorry for me!” He shouted, suddenly standing an inch away from Gai. He balled his fists and without a second thought let his knuckles connect with the other boy’s jaw. 

“I don't care about your words, there’s nothing you can do or say that can change anything!” Kakashi threw another punch, knocking Gai to the floor, who cupped his head and curled inward. 

“You can't even change what happens to yourself,” he spat, biting his lip in an attempt to quell his tears. He straddled him for a moment before stepping away from the huddled green shape, padding back to his corner where he folded himself into an impenetrable knot and let his head fall against his knees.

“Just leave me alone.”

Sniffling sporadically, Gai picked himself up from the floor, a bit stunned and sore but otherwise mostly in tact. He dried his eyes and focused his attention to his backpack; the contents of which, namely a sandwich and a paper with handwritten directions to the Hatake property, were now a bit soggy. He rifled around in the satchel and produced two plastic containers, and, very careful not to disturb him, walked past Kakashi into the kitchen.

Kakashi only opened his eyes when he heard the porcelain clink of a bowl to his left, and it was a moment more before the ambrosial smell of hot food tickled his nose. He blinked as he watched a flute of steam rise from the bowl of curry and rice that had magically appeared beside him, wondering if it was really there even as he found himself emptying it into his mouth. He puffed out a long breath. It was spicy, certainly spicier than he was accustomed to, and made him feel warm and comfortably weary. 

He muttered something lowly as two cold tears balanced on his lower lids, struggled to hold, and plipped onto his knees. He felt a warmth against his shoulder, and then a noise, and then the embrace of daylight as it filtered through the papered doors.

His eyes snapped open. Alone, Kakashi sat plump like a snowman in his bundles of sheets, peering out, watching the sunlight filter through a tear in the paper, where it caught the tiny flecks of dust that floated at ease in the air, where the tiny circles of light against the floor illuminated the grain of the wood and the braiding of the mats; and where the dark and unnatural black pool on the ground once wavered, now was clean.


End file.
